


Of Course

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic!Stiles, Near Death, angsty, kidnapped!derek, sort of graphic depictions of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Semantics</i>, Derek thinks. All Derek really remembers is the press of Stiles' lips against his, warm and wet, Stiles' mouth tasting like blue cotton candy, and Stiles' fingers curling into his shirt, and the clack of the roller coaster carts thundering above them. Derek hasn't kissed all that many people in his life, but Stiles is the best kiss he's ever had. He loves kissing Stiles, even now, two years later.</p>
<p>Derek's head rolls back, and he stares up at the ceiling. "I chose Six Flags because you'd never been there," he says, and when his neck rolls again, weakly, to face Stiles, he’s smiling at Derek.</p>
<p>"I know," he says, and Derek thinks, of course you did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Course

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short so it's unbetaed.
> 
> Triggers for lots of mentions of blood and violence, though it's not too entirely graphic. 
> 
> Tons of thanks to alexdowski and fire-andwolfsbane over on tumblr for helping me hash out a title at two in the morning because i was going insane. 
> 
> sorry about all the hurt!Derek but I got a craving for it.

"Do you remember," Stiles says slowly, kneeling down next to Derek, "when you took us all to Six Flags, for graduation?"

Derek grits his teeth and struggles to get his hands free. His wrists burn. Wolfsbane in the ropes, he assumes. "No," he grunts out.

Beside him, Stiles laughs. "You always did hate to admit when you were having fun," he says. Stiles reaches out to brush his fingers across Derek's cheek, but he never gets to, or Derek never feels it, because suddenly it's dark again.

That's when Derek realizes he's dying.

+

"It was where I first kissed you," Derek says slowly.

He's thirsty. His throat burns. His jaw hurts from grinding and clenching his teeth. His wrists haven't stopped burning yet. His side is split open, but his guts aren't spilling out, so he guesses that's a plus.

Stiles laughs. "You kissed me?" He asks. "Derek we were under the wooden roller coaster and you were yelling at me for wandering off because you thought I was gone and I kissed you to shut you up."

_Semantics_ , Derek thinks. All Derek really remembers is the press of Stiles' lips against his, warm and wet, Stiles' mouth tasting like blue cotton candy, and Stiles' fingers curling into his shirt, and the clack of the roller coaster carts thundering above them. Derek hasn't kissed all that many people in his life, but Stiles is the best kiss he's ever had. He loves kissing Stiles, even now, two years later.

Derek's head rolls back, and he stares up at the ceiling. "I chose Six Flags because you'd never been there," he says, and when his neck rolls again, weakly, to face Stiles, he’s smiling at Derek.

"I know," he says, and Derek thinks, of course you did.

+

They electrocute him and wait to make sure he's healed enough before starting again. His body is dehydrated and starving but that's not enough for him to die, not really. They never let him fully heal, but it takes a long time for him to start healing at all because his body is so weak.

They keep asking about Stiles, and Derek doesn't know _why._ Stiles isn't a werewolf, he's a human, he's Derek's – he’s just Derek’s. But he refuses to speak about Stiles, asks them if it's all they've got when they run the blade through his skin. He watches his own blood drip onto the cement, and feels a hysterical urge to laugh. 

When they leave, he does laugh. After all the shit he's been through, he's here. But he's protecting Stiles, and if it means he dies instead of Stiles, then he'll let it happen.

Stiles says, "I'm sorry," and when Derek looks up, Stiles' honey brown eyes are wide and tear filled, and Derek licks his lips, tastes blood, swallows anyway.

"For what?" He rasps. Stiles shrugs. "You can't apologize for me keeping you safe."

Stiles smiles weakly and shakes his head.

Derek says slowly, "You're not... You're sorry I'm dying, aren't you? That you can't save me."

Stiles doesn't say anything.

+

"You said you wanted me to go," Stiles says. He's sitting Indian style on the floor. Derek is hanging from the ceiling by his wrists.

"What?" Derek rasps.

"To college. You said you wanted me to go. 'Cause I'd be safe. Derek you wanted me to go and now I can't keep you safe." Stiles' breath hitches.

Derek says, "It would've been you. They would've taken you, if you'd stayed." He doesn’t look at Stiles. He rolls his neck until he’s looking up at the ceiling again, and his shoulders are burning, having stayed in this position for far too long. He thinks he’s probably lost a few layers of the skin around his wrists; it feels like the ropes are embedded into the skin there now. He has a half-second gory flash of someone finally finding him, long dead, and having to peel the ropes off, skin trying to grow over them. He swallows back the taste of vomit and blinks. 

“I could’ve found you,” Stiles whispers. “Sooner.” 

“Why do they want you, Stiles?” 

Stiles chuckles. “You know why, Derek.” 

Because Stiles is possibly the youngest, most powerful person on the west coast. Derek knows this. Deaton told him, Derek was standing there while Deaton told Stiles, while he gave him the _with great power,_ speech. Stiles had just singlehandedly taken down an entire rogue pack when after the pack had incapacitated Derek’s pack, and nearly killed Scott and Isaac. 

Stiles said he’d done it with _belief,_ and Derek thought it was so surreal, that Stiles’ belief, of all things, cast magic across an entire group of werewolves, killing them. He hadn’t known it was possible. Deaton hadn’t either, had told them that Stiles was the first person in years who was capable of such things. Stiles had looked nervous, jittery. And then he’d asked Deaton, “Teach me how to control it?” 

And later, in bed that night, Stiles had whispered to Derek, “I didn’t like it. It scared me.” 

And Derek understood, because he knew that rage. He knew what it felt like to be so scared and so angry that a person would do anything to get the people they loved back, or seek vengeance on them. He knew what it felt like to be out of control. So he kissed the top of Stiles head and told him, said softly, “You should go somewhere where you don’t have to use it. 

And Stiles argued for a little while, but in the end he listened, and left. He went to college and Derek went and visited him a couple times a month. He stayed away if there was danger, and came home on the holidays, and Derek – Derek still loved him, even miles and miles away. 

“The question is,” Stiles says, standing up and walking close, reaching out and running a hand along Derek’s injured side, “how did they find out?” 

Derek swallows. “Deaton?” 

Stiles’ mouth is a grim line. Derek closes his eyes. _Not one damn person in this world you can trust,_ he thinks, but then he looks at Stiles and corrects himself. 

_Only one damn person you can trust._

+

He’s not healing anymore. His body can’t catch up fast enough, he hasn’t got the energy anymore. He’s tired. He’s still hanging from the warehouse rafters. He hasn’t had a drink in a long time, food in even longer. Stiles hasn’t been to see him for _so long,_ now, and Derek thought he’d stay with him. 

Derek thought he’d stay with him until the very end. 

“Promise,” he mutters weakly. “Need to… promise.” 

“Promise what?” Stiles’ voice echoes around the room, and Derek blinks sluggishly, looks up from the blood stained cement and sees Stiles’ face. Stiles is wide eyed, tear filled. His lips are bitten, cracked and bleeding. _He’s worried,_ Derek thinks. He does a full body scan of Stiles, and notices his fingers are trembling, too.

Derek lost the feeling in his own fingers so long ago. He can’t feel his shoulders or his toes, either. Nothing hurts anymore; it’s just a constant feeling of numbness. He can’t decide which is better: the pain or the numbness. At the very least, the pain told him he was alive. 

“Promise me,” Derek struggles to spit the words out, his tongue feeling thick, tasting coppery. His teeth are fuzzy, and his lips are split, swollen. He can’t see out of one eye. He just wants to see Stiles’ smile, Stiles’ face, Stiles’ eyes – Stiles’ everything. “Promise me,” he says again, and Stiles looks so confused, so hurt, so worried; Derek wants to run over and scoop him up and hold him tight and tell him it’ll be alright, it’s gonna be okay baby. 

It’s not gonna be okay. 

“Promise what?” Stiles sounds panicked, and Derek is tired. He’s _really_ tired. Stiles is starting to sound distant. “Promise what, Derek, tell me what you want me to promise you? Anything, anything, Derek I’ll promise you anything – I don’t have time, I don’t have enough time, DerekDerekDerek –” 

Derek can’t hear him anymore, can’t see anything. He thinks Stiles is gone, thinks maybe he’s dead. And then there’s this powerful sound of thunder cracking down all around him, screams and shouts, growls and howls. And Derek shivers a little at the sensation of magic settling down around him. _Stiles’ magic,_ his mind supplies for him. 

Derek thinks: you got here too damn late. 

Derek thinks: I wanted to tell you I loved you.

Derek thinks: there’s never enough time. 

And then he hears Stiles screaming, someone wrenching him down from the chains, and his arms won’t even move, they’re so stiff. It’s Boyd, he thinks. Boyd is gently setting him down on the cement, stained with his own blood. He’s lying in his own blood and Stiles is screaming orders, Derek can hear him yelling at everyone to back off, and then Stiles’ hands are pressing down on his chest and there’s a powerful surge of something so overwhelming it takes Derek’s breath away. It takes Derek’s breath away, and he almost doesn’t want it, whatever Stiles is offering him. It’s too much, it’s too strong, and Derek can’t have it, he doesn’t deserve it. 

And suddenly, it dies away.

And Derek – he’s not fully healed, not yet, but he’s breathing and he can open his eyes and see out of both of them, and he looks up at Stiles and chokes on a breath at how _terrified_ Stiles looks, until he lays his eyes on Derek’s own. Stiles chokes, stutters, swallows back a sob and stares down at Derek. “Oh, god,” he says. 

And Derek says, “What the hell did you do?” 

And Stiles says, “I believed in us.” 

+

“What were you gonna make me promise?” Stiles murmurs later, running fingers through Derek’s hair. 

He’s in his own bed. It smells of Stiles, and Stiles’ tears, but Derek doesn’t comment on the fact that every time Stiles laid down while Derek was gone, he must have cried, because sometimes there are things they just don’t need to talk about. Sometimes there are things that they just understand about each other. Derek huffs. 

Stiles took care of Deaton. Derek doesn’t know what that means exactly, and he doesn’t really have the energy to ask about what it means, but judging by the body count surrounding the warehouse when Boyd and Scott practically carried him out, Derek can guess. Derek had said, “He told them about you.” 

Stiles had said, “He won’t be telling anyone anything anymore.” 

And Derek said, “Good.” 

Now he says, “It was really you.” 

“Of course it was,” Stiles sounds affronted. “Even you can’t hallucinate such a perfect image of me.” 

And Derek thinks, of course it was you. 

“I was gonna make you promise me you’d kill those bastards,” Derek says finally. 

Stiles laughs. 

It’s a lie and they both know it, but neither of them want to talk about what the promise was really going to be: _let me go, live your life, don’t blame yourself,_ because Derek has been down that road of self-hatred, has felt responsible for the deaths of so many people before, and he hadn’t wanted Stiles to live that way.

Now, Stiles says, “How about this. Promise me you’ll always love me, and I’ll promise the same thing.” 

Derek thinks: of course I will.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested, you can find me on tumblr @ dylanobilinski.


End file.
